


Alcohol Isn't Enough Anymore

by dumb_bitch18



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crying, Cutting, Emotional Hurt, My First Work in This Fandom, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy has PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumb_bitch18/pseuds/dumb_bitch18
Summary: it's crazy what 45 years alone in the apocalypse can do to someone's mind. Five finds himself at the receiving end of a kitchen knife; The endless drinking hasn't been letting him forget, and now the only way to cease the horrid recollections of Dooms Day is by slicing his own wrists. Klaus finds Five knocking on death's door, unconscious.
Kudos: 68





	Alcohol Isn't Enough Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure to read the tags before looking at this fic

It's crazy what 45 years alone in the apocalypse can do to someone's mind. 

The apocalypse is here. Dust and smoke cloud the sky, his family partially buried under rubble. Their cold dead faces burned in his brain. 

He wakes in a cold sweat, heart racing. 

He needs a drink. 

Five finds himself seated at the kitchen table, a bottle of vodka in one hand, and a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich in the other. He forces down the sandwich, and chugs the rest of the contents in the bottle. 

He places the bottle down on the table, it falls over and rolls off. 

"Shit." Five realizes the rest of the Hargreaves could've heard that; it would be less than ideal for them to see him like that. 

He reaches down to pic up the larger chunk of the bottle, but it slid out of his hand. In attempt to prevent even more noise, he eagerly tried to grab it before it hits the floor. It slashes down his hand-

He's back. 

Back in that shit hole, scavenging for food. He looks to his right and sees an old convenient store, somehow still standing. He enters through a broken window, looking around for anything. He really hit the jackpot on this one. He runs to one of the shelves, and reaches for the top. He sees a can of peaches, one of his favorites. He knocks over a bottle of olive oil along with the can, both plummeting to the floor. The glass shatters, leaving a residue on the can. 

"We'll have to clean that off... Of course I'll be careful... I'm not 9,okay?" Five talks to his mannequin

Five reaches down to grab the can, slicing his hand open on a stray shard of glass. 

"Shit.. Shit.. Shit" He looks over at the little pharmacy, still fully in stock with supplies. He scurried and grabbed bandages; still inexperienced with helping wounds, he thought that was all he would need. 

Several days later, he has a burning fever. The wound is severely infected, his hand swollen; puss continues to leak from the wound. 

He went back, fever still raging and found some basic meds, some disinfectants. He barely made it out with his life. 

\-----

All he can remember is the excruciating pain of the infection, his head pounding. 

"Jesus fuck-" He puts his hands on either side of his head, starting to cry. He rocks back and forth, trying ever so hard to forget those painful events. His eyes dart around the room

He stares at some kitchen knives. A shitty idea for sure, but might help. At least for now. 

He blinks to the wall, grabbing a paring knife, and back to the spot he sat on the ground. He pulls up his sleeve, and rests the knife on his wrists. He places seven cuts, all about an inch a part. He gets carried away. He slices too deep. 

"Jesus- Five! " Klaus enters the room, a quick glance at five, sitting in the fetal position is all it takes for him to crumble. 

"It's nothing. Leave." Five's voice cracks as he attempts to keep his composure. 

"Hey, hey talk to me Five" Klaus crouches down

Five breaks. He pulls Klaus into a hug and sobs into his chest. He tugs on the fabric of Klaus' shirt

".. It's okay Five" Klaus hesitates, but places his hand on the back of the boys head. As his breathing slows, and his cries turn into whimpers, Klaus asks

"Let's get that hand bandaged up.. Okay? Maybe it would be better to talk in the morning.. but I think it's a better idea to have mom handle this."

Five replies with a shaky nod, and they both stand up. Klaus guides him through the empty corridors, and up to Grace's charging station. 

"Mom? Five needs help" A blue light illuminates from her skin. 

"Of course," Grace waits a moment for the head piece to disconnect. She gets up and they continue down the halls to the infirmary. Klaus lays him down on the stretcher as Five fades in and out of consciousness.

"He's lost a lot of blood, he needs a transfusion."

"I'll do it."

"Klaus, your blood is far too polluted. Please go wake up your siblings"

Klaus nods and runs from the room. Down the halls, through the doors, and one by one he wakes up his siblings. 

"You guys need to come to the infirmary. Right now. It's bad.."

They return to see Five, shirtless, blood draining from his arm as Grace hurriedly stitches the cuts. The siblings take a moment to try and understand what happened, knowing fully well that these were wounds he inflicted upon himself. 

"Jesus- Five.." Vanya stands next to him, grabbing his hand. 

"He needs a blood transfusion" Grace repeats

"I'll do it" Vanya immediately replies, the rest of her brothers and sister attempting to talk over her, the same sentence. 

"Okay, Vanya."  
\------

After a long night in the infirmary, all the siblings chose to stay. Five drowsily opens his eyes

"Hey, hey Five. How are you feeling?" Klaus asks

"Like shit. Why is everyone here." A typical sarcastic remark from Five. The whole group awakened in the breach of silence. 

"Five, you need to talk to us" Luther looks almost apologetic

"I don't have anything to say."

"Stop with the bullshit, why were you cutting your self?" Diego gives him shit

Five looks away, ashamed and embarrassed. 

"I can't forget. Every time I close my eyes all I see is your cold dead faces. 45 years alone. I've been drinking to forget but it hasn't been working. I panicked." The team sees tears forming in his eyes, and before they know it, he begins to sob. Something they've never seen. Not even as kids. 

A group hug was very much needed.


End file.
